


beyond the sea

by buckgaybarnes



Category: Pacific Rim (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Merpeople, Astronomer Hermann, Falling In Love, Love Letters, M/M, Meet-Cute, Merman Newt, Mutual Pining, Very Mildly Implied Sexual Content, newt "human groupie" geiszler, self indulgent Little Mermaid meets Shape of Water AU, very sappy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-14
Updated: 2018-07-14
Packaged: 2019-06-10 09:25:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,106
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15288513
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/buckgaybarnes/pseuds/buckgaybarnes
Summary: There's a handsome astronomer who comes to Newt's beach to watch the stars and Newt's smitten.





	beyond the sea

**Author's Note:**

> long-standing apology for consistently bombarding the newt/herm tag with my ridiculously self-indulgent fic. i just have a VERY uneventful summer this year
> 
> i finally finished this wip!! i went without inspo for so long (like, two months) and then yesterday i wrote about 3k words and finished it. it was a very fun fic to write!!!!!!!!

Newt's used to being called _weird_ , or _abnormal_ , or whatever adjective of your choice for his interest in humans. It’s all completely healthy and valid, though, purely academic, no matter what the other merpeople say. It’s not like he wants to be a human. He’s perfectly happy studying them from afar. It’s his _job_ to study them from afar, after all, he’s his people’s only expert on humans and human culture.

There’s just something so fascinating about them: their weird rituals, their extra limbs, all the useless stuff they clutter up their homes with. Newt knows a lot about the useless stuff; a decent bit of it has ended up at the bottom of the ocean, knocked off the sides of ships during storms or maybe even tossed in willingly, and scholars before him have hoarded it all away for research. Newt likes the books the most. That’s where he’s gotten most of his knowledge about human culture and human science, and especially human biology. Newt _loves_ human biology. The only texts he has are a good two centuries old, though, so all that knowledge is probably pretty outdated by now. No one seems to be travelling across oceans with good shit anymore. The coolest things Newt finds these days are eyeglasses (that he likes to wear around) and little things with fried electrical circuits (that he likes to poke around in some more).

There’s a little rock just above the surface of the water, not too far from his lab underwater, and today Newt's stretched out and sunning himself on it with his tail half-in the water. He read half of some old waterlogged book about space before realizing the ending was missing so now he’s trying to make one up in his head while people-spotting on the beach. The rock is the perfect spot for people-spotting, so Newt’s pretty pleased that he found it. It’s hollow enough and far away enough that Newt can chill out of eyesight without worrying about getting caught, but still close enough that he can tell what the humans that come to the beach are doing and what they look like. Unfortunately, not a whole lot of people come to this little beach, and especially not at this time of year—end of the summer season. Shorter days, breezes gone chilly.

It’s sunny today, at least, so Newt hopes someone may decide to take a walk. If not, he can always watch the birds instead. But, to his excitement, there _is_ someone walking along the beach today. He's not dressed like humans usually are for the beach, but in long pants and long sleeves, and he's using something Newt recognizes from books as a cane. He's all alone. Every now and then he pauses and turns to stare out at the ocean.

He's a very interesting-looking human, and Newt likes him the more he looks at him. He's got closely-cut dark hair and a face that's a bit severe, looks to be around Newt's age. Dark eyes, sharp angles. Newt might even say he's handsome.

Newt surprises himself with the revelation. Newt's never had these kinds of feelings about any human he's studied before. Or, frankly, any other merperson. He just—likes this one. There's something about him.

Newt watches the human walk up and down the beach, and then back over the dune and out of sight. He hopes he comes back.

* * *

 Strictly speaking, Newt isn't just an expert on human biology. He's an expert on merpeople biology, as well as the biology of other creatures he shares the sea with. He’s pretty good at messing around with shit to engineer cool stuff, too, even though he isn't _technically_ supposed to spend too much time doing it with human stuff. He's _certainly_ not supposed to try to interact with humans—anything outside of observing them, undetected, with _solely_ scientific attachment from afar is frowned upon.

Newt's never listened to anyone in his life who's tried to tell him what to do, and he's not about to start now, so he skives off doing his usual research to start spending more time at his rock in hopes of catching another glimpse of the human without a hint of guilt.

Newt’s in luck, for once, and to Newt's complete and utter delight, the human comes back every day that week. He doesn't swim. He doesn't sit. He doesn't collect shells, or bring friends, or dig around in the sand like humans usually do. He just takes walks, and occasionally looks out at the horizon. One day, he stayed and watched the sunset. Newt liked watching him, then: how peaceful he looked, how the fiery colors of the sky lit up his face. The most exciting change in schedule, though, is when the human starts bringing a telescope along with him (Newt's pleased to recognize it—he has a few old busted-up ones in his lab back home). Each night he sets it up, and, once the sun dips below the horizon and the moon comes out, he spends hours gazing up at the stars and making notes in a little book.

A curious mind, Newt thinks. Like Newt! Maybe he's also a man of science. He could be some sort of astronomer. Newt likes the way the human looks in the moonlight as much as the sunset—silvery, shadowy, a bit mysterious. Even more handsome. Like something ethereal. And if he _is_ like Newt, if he _is_ intelligent, _is_ curious—

Each night, the human comes back to track the stars, and each night, Newt stays out as late as the human to watch him work and write before he finally packs everything up and disappears over the dunes and Newt swims back home through pitch-black waters and settles in to sleep.

 

Newt expects the man will grow tired of coming to the beach and stop once August finally fades to September and the water turns cold and the skies go gray—like humans do every year—but he doesn’t. He doesn’t stop coming when September turns into October, either, and Newt can see the man’s breath rising up in white curls as he sets up his telescope night after night. He just starts bundling up in a coat with a large hood that keeps drooping in his eyes.

 

One night, two, maybe two and a half months since the man first stepped foot on the beach, Newt watches him—half a smile on the man's face and the ocean breeze blowing back his short hair—work diligently, and realizes he might be in love with him.

 

It's not a shocking blow, or anything, and it's nothing that would get him outright _cast out_ of his society (perhaps just ostracized a bit), but it _is_ a little surprising, mostly for the sole reason that this is the first time Newt’s ever thought he might _love_ someone and he hasn’t spoken to the man once. Maybe he should! No, that's a bad idea. A really bad idea. He'd just scare the guy away. Humans don't really believe in stuff like Newt, especially not smart, learned men like this one definitely is. There has to be  _some_ way.

How do humans talk to the ones they love? Newt's research—that is to say, what he's picked up from novels from the sea—shows a good many of them pine from afar until the other makes the first move. More die of a broken heart. Sometimes they write love letters. Letters might be a good idea, actually; Newt can disguise himself through paper and ink. Not let on that he’s not—well, you know, _not human_ —before he builds up a nice, steady relationship with the guy (preferably with an end result of him falling in love with Newt, too).

Newt's no hand at magic—way too much practice and concentration required—but he did make an effort to learn the basic enchantment to keep paper dry underwater years ago so he could store books and take notes. It comes in handy for what he’s about to do now. Keep it simple, he reminds himself, and writes down a sentence before immediately scratching it out. It’d probably be weird to start out with reassuring the guy that he was _definitely human_ like him. Or that he’s watched him for two months (that’s just straight-up creepy). He tries again. What does he like about the human? He likes his badly cut hair. He likes his dumb coat. He likes how the human smiles when he finds something with the telescope.

_Hi_ , Newt writes. _I’ve seen you come around a lot. I like watching you work. Do you live nearby? I promise I’m not creepy or anything—I come here to work, too. I study_ Newt frowns  _the marine life._ It’s not totally a lie, or anything. _Are you also a scientist? -Newt_

It’s painfully juvenile, and probably riddled with spelling errors, but Newt’s too excited and too eager to send it off to try to make it sound any better so he doesn’t totally give a shit. He realizes, right before he’s about to stuff it into a little bottle he found, that he’s yet to address the top of the letter. Since he doesn’t know the human’s name he just quickly jots down _dear hot guy with the telescope_. “Good enough,” Newt says, and shrugs.

The human’s not there yet when Newt swims back up to shore—he won’t be for another twenty minutes, if he’s going by his usual schedule—so Newt risks the tide washing it back and hurls the bottle as far as he can to the sand where the human usually sets up each night. And then he waits.

The sun dips into the sky and the human comes like clockwork, toting his telescope along in his free hand, and Newt watches eagerly behind the rock when he spots the bottle. He frowns, and Newt wonders—for a moment—if he’ll just chalk it up to washed up garbage and ignore it, but he bends over carefully and picks it up. Opens it. Unrolls the letter and reads it.

Newt watches his frown deepen, watches him scan the area like he’s looking for someone. Whoever left the bottle, Newt assumes. “Hello?” the human calls (oh, he has a nice voice, too, Newt likes it). “Did someone—?” Newt ducks down below the rock again, out of sight; when he pokes his head up again, the human’s—smiling.

Success, Newt thinks.

 

Newt doesn’t expect Hermann to leave a return letter—he _hoped_ , but not expected—but to his surprise Hermann tears a page from his notebook, rolls it carefully, and sticks it in the bottle before he packs up to leave. Newt waits until the tide rises and the water carries the bottle back to him, then reads it by moonlight on the rock. _Newt- I don’t really know what to make of this. Yes, I am a scientist. An astronomer, to be exact. Yes, I live nearby. I don’t know why I’m telling you this. For all I know, you could be_ The human’s scratched a few lines out, but Newt gets the gist—for all he knows Newt could be something unsavory. _Do_ _you_ _live nearby? I didn’t think I had any neighbors._ There’s a bit more crossed out, and at the end, it’s signed, almost hesitantly, with _Hermann_.

_Hermann_. A nice name for what’s an equally nice human. Newt clutches the letter to his chest and grins.

 

_Hermann- I do live nearby. An astronomer! How cool. I’ve never met one before, but I’ve read about them(...)_

 

Newt leaves Hermann another letter, and Hermann replies, and then Newt leaves _another_ letter, and it goes on and on until it’s December and there’s flurries in the air and Hermann still makes his way down to the beach every day to pick up the bottle. Newt learns that Hermann was a university professor, but got tired of the job, and retired early to a little cottage by Newt’s beach he bought with money he’d saved up. He learns that Hermann charts stars and constellations in his free time. He learns that Hermann is as brilliant as he is lonely. Hermann doesn’t outright _say_ that he’s lonely, of course, but Newt picks it up in the little things—he lives alone. He doesn’t talk to his family. He moved out here in the middle of nowhere to spend his days staring up at the stars, after all.

Now that Newt _knows_ Hermann, he can’t help but imagine what it’d be like to _be with_ Hermann. Maybe he could make Hermann’s life a little less lonely. Maybe—Hermann always looks happy when there’s a new message in the bottle from Newt, happier than when he’s looking at the stars—maybe Newt already _has._

* * *

 After the first real snowfall, Hermann doesn’t come back to the beach for a few days. When he does, he’s even more bundled up than usual, no telescope in sight, and leaves immediately after he sticks a new message in the bottle. It’s brief, and to the point: _I won’t be coming to the beach for a while. Perhaps we should meet. -Hermann_

Newt agonizes over it the whole night. This is what he wanted from the beginning, wasn’t it? He wants to meet Hermann more than anything, but—he knows for a fact that if he _does_ , there’s no way Hermann would ever write to him again. He’d think Newt was some sort of monster. And even if he didn’t, it’s not like they could be together. Hermann can’t live in the ocean with Newt, and Newt can’t live on land with Hermann.

In the end, the thought of talking to Hermann face-to-face wins out. Newt doesn’t even bother writing a reply. He just waits at the rock for Hermann to appear. It really is freezing; the cold doesn’t bother Newt (he lives at the bottom of the ocean, after all) but he can see why Hermann would temporarily halt his stargazing. When he does see Hermann appearing over the dunes (which are nearly barren, now; most of the plant life that grew on there in the warmer months died in the cold), Newt’s heart starts to race. Now or never.

Hermann stands at the shore, squinting out at the steely water, then down both sides of the beach. When he turns to search the dunes, Newt seizes his chance and paddles forward cautiously to shallow water.

Now or never. “Hi,” he says.

Hermann startles and jerks around quickly. He lowers his eyes slowly and stares blankly at Newt, who, though his tail isn’t visible, is still, for all intents and purposes, completely nude above the waist in sub-zero water. “...Newt?” Hermann says. It’s wonderful to hear his name in that voice. Better than Newt could’ve possibly imagined.

“That’s me,” Newt says. “Okay, this is gonna get weird—” but Hermann is looking him over with _interest_ , pink slowly spreading across his cheeks. _Weird_ seems to be the last thing on his mind.

“I didn’t expect you to be so—” Hermann begins, voice soft, eyes lingering over Newt’s face, and then the weirdness does seem to finally settle in and he snaps into a frown. “Aren’t you _freezing_? What in the name—”

“This is gonna get weird,” Newt repeats, and inches himself up onto the sand, very, very slowly (with a fucking huge amount of effort, so this better go well), as Hermann’s blank look returns, until his midsection is showing, then lower—Hermann staggers back, loses his balance, falls to the sand, and his cane hits the ground next to him with a thud.

“You’re—” Hermann stammers, taking in Newt’s fish-like tail, the shining, multicolored scales, “I—”

“Yeah,” Newt says. “Uh. Tada.”

Hermann’s mouth moves soundlessly for a few seconds, eyes bulging behind his glasses, and then—finally—his face settles into _fascination._ “Incredible,” he breathes. He scrambles to sit up and reaches out towards Newt’s tail hesitantly, hovers above it, fingers almost touching the scales. He stares between Newt’s face, his chest, his tail, all with the same look of sheer wonder. “Newt,” he says, “you—you’re _incredible_. _How_ can you—why didn’t—?”

“I’m sorry I didn’t say something,” Newt says, but he’s grinning, giddy, Hermann called him _incredible_! Hermann thinks he’s _cool_! “I didn’t want to, like, freak you out or scare you off. You’re—I liked watching you,” he admits, going red in the face, and that just excites Hermann further. He pulls off his glove and reaches out to touch Newt’s cheek. Hermann’s fingers are soft.

“You’re warm,” Hermann murmurs, stroking the skin with his thumb almost absentmindedly as Newt’s blush deepens, “you have blood. Skin. Like any human. But your body—” He lowers his eyes to Newt’s chest again, to his midsection where smooth skin meets scales. Newt flashes the end of his fanned-out tail to show off a bit and nearly splashes some of the frigid water on Hermann. Hermann doesn’t seem to care. His face breaks into a wide smile. “I’d hoped,” he begins, and ducks his head a little sheepishly, “well—your letters meant a great deal to me. More than you know. So—it’s foolish, and vain, but I’d hoped you’d be attractive. Handsome. But you’re _beautiful_.”

“Oh,” Newt says, grinning back just as wide, giddiness rising even higher in his chest. Almost like bubbles. “I think you are too. That’s why I wanted to talk to you in the first place. I saw you on the beach…” But Hermann’s cupping the side of Newt’s face with a soft look in his eyes, tongue darting out to wet his lips nervously, and Newt knows what’s coming next. It’s all he’s dreamed about since the moment Hermann stepped out on the beach. Hermann leans in and Newt meets him halfway in a kiss, sweet and gentle, Hermann’s lips—warm and chapped from the cold—working against his, his pulse—Newt rests a hand on the side of Hermann’s face, too—racing. It’s Newt’s first time kissing a human. It’s Newt’s first time kissing anyone. He’s never felt anything like it before.

Newt doesn’t want it to stop, but Hermann begins to tremble and breaks away. His teeth are chattering. “I’m sorry,” Hermann says apologetically, hair and scarf blowing wildly in a sudden gust of wind. “It’s just a bit—”

“Oh, _shit_ ,” Newt says, suddenly realizing that Hermann is a _human_ , a mammal, warm-blooded, and he’d be cold even if Newt hadn’t been steadily dripping ice-cold water on him for five minutes and the tide wasn’t lapping at his shoes and soaking his socks, even if flurries weren’t slowly drifting down again. “Oh, Hermann, I’m sorry, you should go—” Humans can get hypothermia if exposed to the cold for too long, Newt knows. If anything ever happened to Hermann, Newt doesn’t know what he’d do.

“ _No_ ,” Hermann insists, trembling still. “We have so much to _talk_ about, Newt. So much to...” He trails off, brushes Newt’s hair back. Newt gets the gist of it.

Then, Newt gets an idea.

Newt’s never tested how long he can go without being in the ocean. He manages for hours on the rock without a problem, which means something. Most humans, he know, have tubs they use for bathing, large enough to fit someone of Newt’s size (he’s pretty small for a merperson, his body shorter than Hermann’s if laid out, he suspects) and salt water’s pretty easy to make, Newt could probably figure out the right ratio himself— “How far do you live from here?” he says.

Hermann frowns. “Just beyond the dunes,” he says. “Hardly a walk at all. Why?”

“Do you have a bathtub?” Newt says, and Hermann’s eyebrows shoot up.

 

Hermann’s cottage really is just over the dunes, but it’s nowhere near as easy as Newt expected for them to make their way to it. Hermann only has one free hand on account of his cane and can’t put too much strain on his leg without it aching badly (and the last thing Newt wants to do is hurt Hermann), so Newt does a majority of the work in the process of scooting himself across the sand while Hermann holds one of his hands and steers him in the right direction. It’s a good thing it’s dark out _and_ the beach is deserted in January, because it’d probably be a fucking bizarre sight otherwise. It’s comical enough as is.

The cottage is small and simple, but, frankly, cute. It’s one level, painted a light blue with a white roof, and there’s a wicker chair on the tiny porch. Hermann drops into the chair when they finally reach it, panting, his face flushed. He’s taken off his scarf. “Oh, hell,” he says, wiping his brow, “you’re _heavy_.”

“Sorry,” Newt says. He’s laying at Hermann’s feet, wiggling around on the wooden beams. A bit like a dead fish. Newt almost snorts. And then he realizes he’s starting to feel a bit—uncomfortably dry. It really did take them a while to get up the dunes. “Hey,” Newt says. “Uh. Not to alarm you or anything, but—”

Hermann heaves a sigh and gets heavily to his feet. “Right,” he says, and fumbles with the lock of his front door.

The bathwater is lukewarm and Hermann stirs in every bit of salt he finds in his cupboards, and it splashes over the sides and wets the tiled floor when he tips Newt into the tub. Newt fits easily, to his delight. Hermann watches his expression anxiously for a few minutes as Newt tests it out; when he settles into it and sighs contentedly, Hermann looks satisfied. Newt waves the fanned fin at the end of his tail lazily in the air. “Good?” Hermann says. He’s shed all his layers down to his sweater-vest, changed out of his wet socks, and he’s sitting on the floor in front of the tub, legs stretched out in front of him.

“Good,” Newt says, beams. He holds out his hand—damp from the water—out over the edge, and Hermann twines his fingers with Newt’s, raises Newt’s hand to his mouth and kisses the back of it. Newt wants to ask Hermann everything: about him, about what it’s like to be human, what it’s like to study the stars, but Hermann’s eyes are drooping and he yawns noisily. “You should sleep,” Newt says, unable to force his smile away. “It’s not like I’ll be going anywhere.”

“I have so much to _tell you_ ,” Hermann sighs into Newt’s skin. “So much to _ask_. But I suppose you’re right.”

He kisses Newt goodnight, as chaste and light as before, and when he shuts off the bathroom light Newt watches the moon through the window, sinks into the water, and dozes off peacefully.

 

He wakes up the next morning to Hermann settling in at the side of the tub again, a tray in his hands. For a moment, Newt’s confused—where is he? Why is Hermann there?—and then it clicks wonderfully into place. Not a dream after all, then. “I wasn’t sure what you eat,” Hermann says, displaying the tray nervously, “so—I tried for a variety. This is toast—some fruit—tea—” He points to each as he lists them off, and Newt watches intently, nodding. Newt mostly ate fish back home, so he tries a bit of everything Hermann offers and finds he likes _all_ of it. Between the two of them they polish off the food on the tray, and then Hermann sets it aside, settles in comfortably with a blanket around his shoulders and his hands around his own mug of tea. He’s looking Newt over again, a little smile on his face; it makes Newt feel warm in his chest.

“You have tattoos,” Hermann says. Newt frowns at him. “Your chest,” he corrects himself, “and your arms. You’re covered in—colorful pictures. We call those tattoos. Are they natural for you?”

“ _Oh_ ,” Newt says, and nods. “Yeah.” Newt’s a bit of an outlier—hardly any of his kind were born with the sheer amount of colorful, swirling markings that Newt was—but Newt doesn’t mind. Hermann seems to like them, too.

Hermann’s still examining him. “You’re wearing glasses,” he points out. “Are they necessary? For you to see, that is?”

“Sort of,” Newt says. “I found them, and I like wearing them. Are yours?”

Hermann pulls his off his nose. They're smaller than Newt's, rounded instead of square, and they're attached to a little chain around his neck. "For reading," he says, and he holds them out to Newt and Newt examines them eagerly.

They get to know each other, again, without the necessary veil of dishonesty on Newt’s part this time. Hermann is just as eager to know about Newt’s life as Newt is to learn about his; while morning turns to afternoon and then evening, Newt wheedles information out of Hermann about universities and telescopes and tea, and Hermann wheedles information out of Newt about merpeople and the ocean and how Newt knows so much about humans in the first place. “I study humans,” Newt explains with a shrug. “It’s what I do for a living. Your societies, your cultures, your bodies—”

“Bodies?” Hermann says, sounding a bit flustered.

“Biology,” Newt clarifies. “Human biology. Uh. Organs, skeletons, stuff like that.”

There’s an awkward pause. Is it possible—? “Of course,” Hermann says.

“I study the sea life too,” Newt says quickly. “Fish biology. But humans—you’re my favorite. _So_ interesting. I’m the kingdom’s top expert. The only expert, actually.” He can’t help but preen a bit.

If anything, rather than impress Hermann, it seems to _de_ press Hermann. “Oh,” he says, casting his eyes to the floor. “I suppose—well, I shouldn’t be keeping you from them, should I? You’ll be wanting to return home soon.”

“Uh,” Newt says. “I mean. I’m not exactly popular, back home.” Newt doubts anyone even realized he didn’t come home last night, and it’s not as if he ever leaves his lab in the first place.

“You’re welcome to stay for as long as you’d like,” Hermann says. He sort of blurts it out, actually, and looks embarrassed immediately afterwards, but Newt’s elated, and when he nods, Hermann looks elated, too.

So Newt does stay. Day after day, Hermann brings him food, sits down by the bathtub and drinks tea and eats toast and listens to Newt talk, or Newt listens to Hermann talk, and—occasionally—they argue (about literature, about philosophy, about how it’s even possible for a merperson like Newt to even know what literature and philosophy _are_ ), and occasionally Hermann reads to him (poetry, physics, a paper he himself wrote when he was still a professor). Hermann refreshes the salt and the water in Newt’s tub every few days (he has another bathtub attached to his bedroom, he explains, which is why he hasn’t had to temporarily requisition Newt’s to bathe) and Newt grows to love the little bathroom as a new home: the floral shower curtain, the elegant tiling, the little window with the perfect view of the night sky. Better yet, he grows to love Hermann even more than he had before: Hermann’s laugh, Hermann’s touch (tentative, almost like he can’t believe Newt’s real), Hermann’s deep, passionate love of his studies.

Newt can’t remember a time in his life he’d been happier.

They haven’t kissed since that first night. Every time Newt thinks Hermann may be about to—a deliberate touch on Newt’s arm, a lingering glance on Newt’s lips—Hermann pulls away at the last moment, stammering something out about the weather or how he’ll need to pop out for more groceries soon (so will Newt be fine on his own for an hour or so?).

Days become weeks. “Surely,” Hermann says one night, as he rests by Newt’s tub in a pair of striped pajamas, his thick blanket still wrapped around his shoulders (the bathroom, with all its tiling, can be cold), “you must miss the ocean?”

“Nope,” Newt says, and he’s almost surprised to find he means it. He really _doesn’t_ miss the ocean. It was pretty dark down there, to be honest. And cold. A bit creepy. Lonely. “Not at all.”

“But the tub is so _small_ ,” Hermann says, incredulous, “you can’t possibly—”

Newt initiates the kiss this time. It’s as sweet as the first two, and Hermann clings to him through it. “I love you,” Newt says, hoping that’s a good enough answer.

Hermann kisses him again. “I love you, too,” he sighs, happy, nearly shaking, and he strokes back Newt's hair, “of course I do, Newt.”

Hermann falls asleep by the tub that night, in a makeshift bed on the bathmat with his blanket and a pillow he grabbed from his room, hand clenched tight in Newt’s.

He sleeps there the next night, too, with a few more pillows and blankets for added comfort. And the night after that. Three nights down the line, he shuts off the light as he always does, but inside of kissing Newt goodnight and laying down to sleep, he sits at the side of the tub, fiddling with his button-up pajama shirt. “Newt,” he says, and Newt watches, enraptured, as he slips open the top buttons, exposing his collarbones, the top of his chest. The moonlight streaming from the little window catches on his skin like it had at the beach all those nights ago. Hermann swallows visibly.  “I—ah—” Newt reaches out carefully, brushes his fingers across one collarbone. Hermann shivers. “You said,” Hermann says, voice low, “you were well-versed in—human biology.” He slips the shirt from his shoulders.

Newt hadn’t been lying, and he’s more than happy to provide a demonstration of his skills for Hermann.

* * *

“I think I’ll get you a bigger tub,” Hermann muses aloud a few weeks later. He’s wrapped tightly in Newt’s arms, laying atop him in the little bathtub. It’s the most comfortable position for both of them, even if it means Hermann getting wet. Newt kisses at his throat. "Perhaps one that could hold both of us comfortably. And you’ll have more room, of course.”

Newt hums in agreement, and Hermann strokes at his hair. They lay in silence except for the distant sounds of waves crashing on the shore, the occasional creak as the little cottage settles in the wind. “Are you lonely?’ Newt says quietly, remembering Hermann's earlier letters.

“I used to be,” Hermann says, “but I’m not anymore.” He smiles at Newt.

**Author's Note:**

> anyway they lived happily ever after (i debated some time of He Became Human ending but honestly? how much of a bummer would it be if you got yourself a handsome merman bf and he randomly turned human on you)
> 
> as always: tumblr at hermannsthumb, twitter at hermanngaylieb


End file.
